Same Time Next Year
by NairobiWonders
Summary: A night out


The lights were dimming as he slid into the empty seat beside her. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Sorry."

"Case?"

"No. Bees."

"They okay?"

"Yes. I'll explain after…." Sherlock motioned towards the screen.

The seats, as was their preference, were at the back of the auditorium. The movie, "Howard's End," part of a Merchant Ivory retrospective at the Park Slope art house, was a compromise, chosen after some debate via texts earlier in the afternoon.

The music swelled, the film began and Joan and Sherlock settled in. She placed her arm on the armrest between them and he moved just enough so that their upper arms almost brushed.

Surreptitiously, Sherlock took in her profile, taking time to admire her features, cheekbones, eyes, lips, that elegance and beauty of his partner that daily living did not always let him see. Her hair was pulled up loosely, accentuating the sweep of her neck … she had removed the necktie she'd been wearing earlier and undone several buttons of her white tuxedo shirt. He allowed himself the pleasure of just watching her breathe.

She caught his eye as he was looking at her at and they shared a brief moment of silent communication. Joan moved in a little closer. His arm squeezed onto the armrest besides hers. They pretended to watch the movie for a while.

Joan felt him begin to relax. His perfect posture became a bit looser. His fingers crawled ever so slowly towards her hand, slotting themselves between hers. She accepted his advance and rolled her hand to meet his. Fingers gently caressed fingers, explored palms, soothed and stroked. The sensation of what for others might be mundane was an exquisite pleasure for two who rarely touched.

The ice broken, and as if on some invisible cue, Joan scooted in closer to him and his arm made quick work of placing itself around her. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, the top of it meeting his jawline, and was rewarded with an almost imperceptible hum of pleasure vibrating through his chest. She smiled and snuggled and he held her just a little closer.

They watched Sir Anthony being rude to Emma Thompson, neither really paying attention to the performances or the story being told. His senses were deliciously overwhelmed by his partner's proximity. The silken quality of her hair as it met his jaw, the mixture of scents that were uniquely hers … lemony sweet with a top note of bergamot and a vanilla base and something else, something wild and floral that he could never quite identify.

She was equally enjoying the closeness. He'd worn the cologne he knew she liked, a heady mixture of green tea, bitter orange and peppery coriander with a smoky base that evoked nights spent working at his side. Even through his jacket and shirt, she could feel his muscled upper chest, hard and strong, the heat that radiated out from him, the soft beating of his heart. Her head wriggled closer to him prompting him to let his cheek caress her hair, dropping slowly down, skimming the softness of her face, tracing her features with his nose. She lifted her face to better meet his and his lips laid light kisses on her closed eyes and trailed down to meet her lips.

Joan's hand cupped his face and brought his mouth to hers. The kiss was long and sweet, lips and tongues quietly bit and played with freedom, with ardor, while the movie played on. He moved down her neck and found his spot at her open collar where he could breathe her in and find rest and sanctuary if only for a while.

She soothed his head, burying her nose in his close cropped hair, dropping small kisses as reward. A sense of utter rightness, of secret pleasure and even though the word was banned in their relationship, of love and place and belonging swept over them.

The movie continued and so did they, only pulling away from each other as the film's credits began to roll. They straightened up, adjusted themselves to once more meet the real world and as the lights came on, stood. Eye contact was avoided. She followed behind him out the row into the aisle.

"So tell me what happened with the bees."

"It wasn't our bees. It was Trevor, he seemed to think he had a swarm building … he didn't."

They made their way out into the cool night air, walking home side by side they discussed bees and neighbors and what they should have for dinner tonight.


End file.
